Thaw
by pemberleystateofmind
Summary: Sometimes, all you need is a little warmth. AH. Drabble-ish.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own anything.

1.

19 years old, 5'3", 120 pounds. Brunette.

_Am I really doing this?_

Can't host, but can travel.

_I'm really doing this._

Lonely. Horny. In need of a good fuck. Send me a pic and your stats.

_I can't believe I'm doing this._

The happy ding from my phone sounds anything but in the emptiness of my room. I punch in the passcode to see the little red circle in the corner of the mail icon, glaring at me in disappointment. I glower back and tap on the culprit so it would go away.

**From: do not reply craigslist - automated message «robot๑craigslist****｡org** »  


**Posting ID # 3869136044:**

"**FWB wanted - w4m" (casual encounters)**

**Should now be viewable in our listings.**

I tip the bottle into my mouth, hoping the sweet alcohol would drown out the little voice of reason in the back of my head. Funny how it sounded a lot like my father.

"Isabella, you don't know these men."

"They could be serial killers for all you know."

"How could you do this? This isn't you."

"Whore."

The lecture is interrupted by a second ding, and a third. A fourth and fifth. Sixth. I count up to ten before giving up and finish off whatever's left in the bottle. It's comforting, knowing there are others like me. Desperate scumbags that'd fuck anything with a pulse.

The constant buzzing and dinging makes me smile, and the lullaby of notifications sing me to sleep in no time.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't own anything.

2.

Over the course of the night, my head has transformed into a boulder. It is the only explanation. The weight and pain keeps the sleep at bay, and I want to cry because there's nothing going on for me in the real world except TV shows and crappy pizza.

There's a buzzing under my pillow. At first I thought it was my alarm, but I remember the ad that I posted last night. I force my eyes to stay open this time, and know it's time to get up.

Sleep isn't an option anymore. Nor should it be, considering how it's almost noon. After throwing on a dress because fuck pants, I make my way to my laptop and turn it on before heading to the kitchen. By the time I'm done making my cereal, it's hot and ready for me on my bed, waiting for me like a naked lover.

And lately, it's the only thing I come home to. It's sad that the only thing keeping me warm at night is the heat of my laptop.

My eyes widen as I log into my account. The single email from last night has manifested into a whopping 312 and I grin because I feel like Simon in American Idol.

Except I'm judging dick, not voices.

However, an hour into my search, I've lost all hope. There is no God, just like there's no acceptable schlong left in the state of Washington. They say you can't be picky when you're desperate, but my standards can only go so low.

As I'm about to log out, my junk folder boldens with a little (1) to the right of it. I don't know what supernatural force urges me to click on it, but I do.

**From: Masen «eac20๑yahoo｡com»**

**Subject: Call me.**

**(206) 487-2672 **

No matter how vigorously I finger the scroll on my mouse, I know that there's nothing more to the email. No picture. No name or stats. This guy could be sixty with a beer belly for all I knew.

But I still find myself punching the number into my phone.

Continue? Let me know.


	3. Chapter 3

I don't own anything.

3.

It's about an hour later, and I'm staring at the ten digits on my screen.

I'm a pussy. I think I'm bold but I'm not and when it comes down to actually following through with my "daring plans" I can't even handle a simple phone call.

I shriek as the phone in my hand vibrates. It's impossible, I know it is, for Masen to have contacted me without having my number, but it's the first thought in my head anyway.

_Dad calling... _

It's a sign. He knows. He's aware that his only daughter is whoring herself out and he's out to get me.

"Bella? You alright?"

"Dad! Hey! Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

He chuckles, and in my mind I see the twitch of his moustache. "You're all squeaky. Anyway, I wanted to let you know I can't make it up there this weekend. Waylon got hurt during practice and I'm covering a few of his shifts. Sorry, baby."

"It's fine, dad. Tell him I hope he feels better soon."

"He'd appreciate that. Thanks, Bells."

I hang up with shaking hands. That was definitely a sign. And even if it wasn't, I'm going to treat it like it was.

The melodical ringing actually starts to sooth me, until the definite 'click' of someone answering.

"Took you long enough."

Dramatically, I pull my phone away from my ear and stare at it. "Excuse me?" I say, putting it back in place.

"Meet me at the Starbucks on 12th in an hour. I'll be in a grey beanie."

"But I don't-"

_Click._

* * *

**I'm a moron. I updated the wrong chapter. It's all fixed now, but if you read this before I corrected myself, I'm sorry.**


	4. Chapter 4

I don't own anything.

4.

He's easy to identify. Donned in a light grey beanie, sitting on a bench with his head turned – all I can see is his back and side profile, but this was definitely Masen. He doesn't even try to be discreet as he shamelessly checks out the female passerby's.

Before I left my house, I downed three fingers of scotch for liquid confidence. Was it too much? Perhaps, but it definitely worked because I was now strutting my way over to the pervert on the bench. I ignore the seat altogether, opting on perching my ass on the backrest behind him. The temporary height difference gave me a sense of superiority.

"Masen."

"Tsk, tsk. You're late," he tells my knee.

I shoot him a condescending glance in reply. "I'm not late. You're just early. Eager, huh?"

It's the first time I'm able to look at him in depth, and he's beautiful. There are light brown, almost rusty locks hidden under that godforsaken beanie, and a mini forest in each of his irises. My eyes snake their way down his jaw line, and the pool forming between my legs is unavoidable as I imagine the stubble on his cheek tickling me in said spot.

"What's your name?"

I'm not really done looking at him, but I answer anyway. "Tanya."

"Bullshit," he scoffs. "C'mon, sweetness. You gotta give yourself more credit. Tanya's a porn star's name."

I narrow my eyes, feigning anger. "That's my mother's name."

"R-really?"

"No. Her name is Renee."

He blinks, and lets out a hearty guffaw, his smile taking up half his face. I feel like a professional comedian by the way his eyes crinkle up in the corner.

For a second, I take note on how nice it'd be to witness this on a daily basis. But I shake off the thought quickly, because I'm not here for that.

"I'm Bella. Now, are we walking or driving?"

* * *

**Today I went hill-sledding and bruised my ass on a camouflaged rock. Reviews kiss it better.**

**Plus, I don't even know how you guys are liking this. Let me know, yeah?**


	5. Chapter 5

I don't own anything.

5.

Masen stands up and positions himself between my legs. His smirk—which I'm beginning to think never leaves his face—grows as he spreads his legs until we're the same height.

"Hold on, dollface," he says as he tugs on a stray thread hanging from my dress. "Don't you think we should see if we click first?"

"You laughed at my teasing. That's enough to convince me."

He chortles again, and suddenly I don't feel so witty anymore. This guy laughs at anything he's told.

I lean forward to get down, hands motioning for him to move out of the way, when he puts his palm on my cheek. I don't have time to ask him what the fuck he was doing before he presses his lips to mine.

There's a brief moment of teeth and tongue and moisture and panting and embarrassing noises and then it's over.

He skims his nose along my hair, and I let him, even though it's freaky and just as intimate as the kiss we shared. "My name is Edward, by the way. Masen's just a… nickname of sorts."

"You mean an alias in case I turned out to be a flake."

He laughs yet again, and I'm baffled at this man's sense of humour. How is everything so funny to him?

I lift my head from where I rested it on his shoulder and bite softly down on his earlobe.

"Edward," I repeat, his real name awkward on my tongue. "The next time you kiss me, I'll skin your nipples off."

* * *

**That was my favourite threat in high school. That and, "I'll castrate you with a butter knife." That's the line that got me my boyfriend of three years.**

** Tell me how your day went.**


	6. Chapter 6

I don't own anything.

6.

If he's offended, he doesn't show it.

"Duly noted," he tells me after a moment, pulling away. There's mirth in his eyes, but he seems to catch himself from giggling again, thank fuck.

Edward offers his hand to me. His gesture is unwanted and unnecessary, considering how the ground is a mere two feet down, but his smile guilts me into placing my hand in his. He doesn't let go as he leads me away from the benches, and all I think about is how the sweat from my palm and the sweat from his palm is merging and it's so uncomfortable and cold and damp and—

"Bella?"

He stops us in the middle of the sidewalk, and I stumble a bit before he uselessly grips my hand until I'm steady. "What?

"I asked if you had any condoms."

The blush that erupts on my face is uncalled for, considering the reason we even met. But other than that, I'm able to keep my face blank as I nod.

"Okay, good. I wasn't sure if I had to stop by a 7-11 or something."

"Nope. We're all set."

He chuckles. He's always laughing in some way and I want to punch him because no one is that happy. Before I get the chance, he leads me to a huge townhouse at the end of the sidewalk and unlocks the front door.

"Do you own this place?"

"Mmhm," he nods and waves me in before him. The interior is warm and welcoming , matching the owner of the house perfectly. Pictures of whom I assumed to be his family adorn the walls, and there are knickknacks on the fireplace that go well with the mismatch furniture. It only makes me more uncomfortable – this is a place for family and friends, not for a quick fuck.

"Actually, Edward, are you sure you want to—"

Suddenly my back is against the wall and he's pressing into me. There's hot breath and wet lips on my neck, my collarbone, my jaw line, everywhere but my mouth and as much as I should appreciate him following my orders, it's driving me just as crazy.

My hands find their way under his shirt, nails scraping the plane of his back. It's a game of follow the leader as I try to mimic the pleasure of movements. Halting at my waist, he traces circles into my hipbones with his thumbs, and I giggle as it tickles. The fingers that grasp my hips slowly make their way under my dress, and we both gasp when he reaslises I'm not a fan of underwear.

"Upstairs," he growls into my skin. "Now."

* * *

**I'll be stuck at work all weekend. New chapter on Monday. **

**I genuinely hope you have a good one. **


End file.
